


In My Veins

by red_b_rackham



Category: The Little Mermaid (1989)
Genre: Ariel's the human, Curiosity, Drama, Eric's the mermaid, F/M, Family Issues, Hopeful Ending, Magic, Mostly Gen, Role Reversal, Storms & Shipwrecks, Yuletide 2020, technically Eric/Ariel but more PRE-Eric/Ariel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: Eric has always yearned to see life on the surface. When he can't keep himself away from a new shipwreck, he just might get his wish. (Oneshot.)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aibhilin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aibhilin/gifts).



> Thank you my betas Hope, Stars, and Joy. <333
> 
> I’m sure this has been done 800 times, but this is the idea that came to me and I couldn’t shake it, so I guess make this #801.

Eric didn’t plan to find a shipwreck. 

He didn’t plan to take some of the more interesting and weird little things from the creaking wood carcass, didn’t plan on swimming from room to room, on finding a strange little golden locket with a sealed photo of a man and woman inside. He didn’t plan anything, really. This was his number-one flaw according to Grimsby.

“You have certain responsibilities, you know,” Grimsby would say, watching him with his beady sturgeon eyes. 

Eric waved him off, inspecting a little wooden box he’d recovered from the wreck. Painted in beautiful colors sure to fade away, down here on the ocean floor. Dissolving into nothing, like crab prints in the sand, gone with the swish of his tail. Like always, it inexplicably made his heart ache. All these beautiful things, and so many would be lost because of the nature of water, and he’d be forever left with questions. Where had it come from? Who made it? Who missed it?

“Are you listening to me?” Grimsby said beside him. 

Eric popped the latch on the front of the box. Bubbles escaped as he cracked it open to find a small figure, mounted in front of a tiny mirror. He traced his finger over the delicate thing—a human woman, one of her legs pointed out to the side. What did that feel like? To have two legs, to move them independently, to _stand?_

 _“Eric,”_ Grimsby snapped. 

“Sorry,” Eric said, closing the box. He’d inspect it more later. “I was just…”

Grimsby sighed, fluttering his fins. “Ever since your father passed, it has been my responsibility to watch out for you.”

“You do good, Grim.” Eric grinned, tucking the box into his bag, already overflowing with salvaged objects. He itched to escape today’s lecture on why he needed to be a better prince, and then get to sorting his haul. The box would sit quite nicely next to the candlestick set he’d found last month, up on the higher shelf, below the shelf bursting with glassware…

Grim eyed him with exasperation. “Just _try_ to keep your head below water, Eric. Perhaps restrict your outings to the city and not search out all these human contraptions—"

“They’re not _contraptions_ ,” Eric bit out. That was his father’s word and Eric hated it. The things he found were curious, beautiful, strange, useful… _Contraptions_ made them sound useless at best and dangerous at worst. 

“I _know_ , Eric,” said Grim, soothing in the way he’d done since Eric was a young guppie. Understanding but firm—ever the peacemaker between Eric and his father, who had wanted Eric to ignore the world on land, with its trinkets and oddities, and rather focus on marrying to carry on the family name. 

Something Eric didn't plan on doing any time soon. 

  
  


~

  
  


He didn’t plan on getting involved, either. 

He’d only intended to go for a swim, maybe see if Scuttle the seagull was around. If the swim was motivated by spite, well, maybe it was a little. 

Carlotta and Grim had basically cornered him into hosting a charity concert for the city—the same ridiculous gala his parents used to put on back in the good ol’ days, and his father had carried on in memory of his father, and _his_ father, and so on. Eric was expected to carry it on for all of them. 

That he should be forced to recreate a tradition he’d always hated wasn’t fair, and he told them so. Everyone meant well, and he knew he shouldn’t have yelled, but he was tired of their trying to force him into the same box his predecessors had occupied. Did no one understand he didn’t _want_ to be like his father? 

Eric made for the surface, just in time to see a massive ship in the distance. Despite—or because of—Grim’s latest warnings about responsibility ringing in his ears, Eric swam for it. Music and laughter poured off it in waves and that curious ache filled Eric’s chest. 

_What would it be like to—what’s the word?—dance?_

He had a moment to imagine it, to picture himself up there on the deck with the sailors and the musicians, the way they tapped and frolicked on those _legs_. 

There was a rumble high overhead and then the scene went belly-up. Eric's skin prickled; something was very wrong. The storm descended then, a tangle of chaos and lightning and roaring winds. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to be topside with crushing waves that would toss him like a piece of flotsam.

Rule number one: don’t go above when humans are present. Number two: don’t go above when there’s a storm. Three: Just _don’t go above._

Eric dove down to avoid the roiling waves, but, even as he pulled himself deeper, there was no mistake the incredible explosion above. _The ship._

Debris and chunks of sail rained down, and panic burned in his throat. He couldn’t imagine what had caused it. He had to _do something,_ but what? He’d only ever seen the shipwrecks well after they’d settled deep on the ocean floor. This was happening right before his eyes: the hull began to sink, and people scrambled near the surface, fighting for air. 

Frozen by panic, fear, and indecision, Eric spotted a body sinking rapidly among the debris. He wasn’t supposed to be seen, he wasn’t supposed to ever go near a human, let alone touch one. If they saw him, he was as good as dead, wasn’t he? That was how it went, according to his family—

He wasn’t going to let her die, either. 

He didn’t _plan_ on getting involved, but he darted to the falling body anyway, with its skirts billowing out like a jellyfish. He pulled them—her—to the surface and swam hard and fast for the shore, out of the reach of the storm, already receding in the other direction. Away from the cries of her fellow sailors, he tugged her onto the sand and laid her on her side, out of danger. 

Eric touched her cheek. “Please be alive,” he whispered. 

Her crewmates would make it to shore safely soon enough to properly help her—he'd seen a few of them clambering into a lifeboat—but it’d do her no good if she didn’t start breathing. 

Her hair was a stunning shade of red he’d only ever seen on a clownfish or maybe a sunset, once. On her, it might’ve been the prettiest color he’d ever seen. 

Eric gave her shoulder a shake, and the woman mercifully began coughing water and gasping for air. 

“Hey, you’re okay—you’re okay. Breathe.” 

His relief that she was all right mixed with panic that _he was on shore with her_. He squirmed back into the tide as fast as he could, scrambling past the shallows until he was safely under the water. He swam a little farther out just to be sure, before he cautiously poked his head up to watch as the woman shakily sat up, turning her head. Maybe she was looking around for her savior. 

Eric ducked back under and made for the deep. 

  
  


~

  
  


At first, he did nothing—didn’t mention the incident to Grim or Carlotta, or even to his friends down in the market. He didn’t seek the remnants of the shipwreck, which felt too dangerous, somehow. He’d touched a human, he’d seen one up close, and it was an impossible secret no one would understand. 

He’d broken all the rules and more in one fell swoop. Worse: he wanted to do it again.

Eric craved to see _her_ again—to ask all the questions that had burnt a hole in his chest since he was a tadpole. _How do legs work? How do you dance? What does running feel like?_

He was sure he’d never see her again, but at least he could try to keep some connection to her. That was the only way he could justify seeking out the wreck, eventually. 

He didn’t think that the visits would become a regular excursion, but Grim was soon nearing a boiling point over them. That was rare, but still Eric couldn’t stop returning to the site of the woman’s shipwreck. 

“Your curiosity has grown into an unhealthy obsession,” Grim warned him, eyes flashing with anger. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Eric promised, even as his heart ached. There was so much more to find down there, he knew it.

“Do not go back to that wreck, Eric. It is far too close to human waters, and they might be looking for it too.”

“It’s fine, it’s safe.” He had no idea if that was true. He didn’t care.

Grim glared. “ _Eric_. Please.”

Eric swallowed. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

Grim sighed. 

  
  


~

  
  


Eric gathered whatever he could find.

The cave where he kept his collection was overflowing, so he found another one, intending to sort through it all and display the newer items with everything else he had. But these new things weren’t simply _stuff_ he’d scavenged from wrecks unknown—this was those people's lives, _her_ life. Knowing what she looked like made it personal. It made him feel less like an archaeologist and more like a thief. 

He examined a brass candlestick. What if she missed this? What if it was important?

 _What does it look like lit up? How does it work? What does fire look like—_ feel _like?_

His knuckles were white with how tight he held it.

Under the cover of darkness, Eric brought a sack up to the shore. The beach was deserted, painted with starlight and littered with debris that had washed ashore. He pushed an assortment of objects he’d retrieved from the shipwreck up onto the rocks, out of the tide’s reach. He only knew a few of their proper names, thanks to Scuttle. Dinglehoppers, trinkets, and thingamajigs sat alongside books, little boxes, and bits of jewelry. 

He went back a few days later with a trunk of clothes—that’d been damn hard to swim with, even after lashing a set of ropes around it to make it easier to pull. He wasn’t sure they could salvage the clothes anyways, but he still felt that gnawing need to make sure he could return what he could to their owners—to the woman.

The beach had been cleared of the objects he’d deposited before. He grunted and groaned and muscled the trunk into the rocks, and slipped back under the water. 

Eric smiled as he swam away. Tomorrow, he’d bring another load.

  
  


~

  
  


Grim was waiting when he went home. 

“Eric, this has to stop.”

“I’m just giving them their things back,” Eric protested.

“You are endangering this entire kingdom by being so blatantly foolish.” Grim’s voice was harder than Eric had ever heard it. Even Carlotta, hanging back by the doorway, floating uncertainly, had a stiff, somber expression. “The more often you surface, the more you put everyone here at risk.”

“I’m being careful.” Eric made to swim around Grim, but the sturgeon swished and darted in front of him again. "I haven't been seen."

“You won’t stop until someone gets killed—”

“I’m _being_ careful,” said Eric. 

“I am the guardian of this household, and I will not tolerate—”

“ _You_ are not my father,” Eric snapped. 

Carlotta gave a little strangled gasp, puffing up and sending bubbles spiraling up to the coral-crusted ceiling. Guilt stung Eric’s chest, and Grim blinked rapidly.

Eric opened his mouth to apologize. 

“Leave,” said Grim, quiet, but Eric flinched as though he’d screamed it. 

“What?”

“Leave,” Grim repeated. “Consider how your actions are harming this kingdom and this home and do not come back until you understand the danger you are inviting with your obsession with the surface.”

Eric gaped at him. “Are you _throwing me out of my own house?”_

“Consider—”

Anger replaced shock and Eric’s temper pulsed in his ears. Grim had been his guardian for as long as he could remember, had taken care of him, had looked out for him. Now, over some human junk, he was exiling him from his own house? The same thing his father had threatened to do, many times over the years, but he'd never quite followed through on the threat thanks to Grim’s peacemaking. 

The same thing _Grimsby_ now had laid down instead of smoothing things over. 

“Consider _this_ : screw you,” said Eric, hands shaking. He tore off in a storm of bubbles, ignoring Carlotta’s pleas for him to come back.

  
  


~

  
  


Eric shoved piece after piece into a sack. He _would_ finish what he started. Eric was being careful, damn it, and he wasn’t trying to _be with_ the humans. He was just returning their things. He seized the painted box with its little figurine, paint chips floating off the surface. 

When he touched the figure’s extended leg again, the idea hit him like lightning. If he was exiled from home: _why the hell not?_

He didn’t plan on going to the sea witch, Ursula, who lived out in dark, forbidden waters, but he didn’t know what other options he had. The sea witch looked him up and down like she couldn’t comprehend his presence. 

“You want to give them back their... _things_ ,” she said, poking at one of the bags he’d brought with him. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said. 

Ursula cackled. “Oh, what a divine little _hero_ , you are, Eric! How the humans must be missing their idiotic little trinkets so deeply that you simply _must_ return them. What a saint!” She swirled around the room, laughing long and loud. 

Eric’s cheeks grew hot. 

Ursula stopped abruptly before him, one of her tentacles coming up to cup his chin. Eric swallowed, skin prickling, every pulse of his heart telling him to swim away fast, _now, wrong, wrong, bad_ —he ignored it all and held the strings on his bag tighter. 

“Now, tell Auntie Ursula why you’re _really_ here.” Her black eyes pinned him, searched him, scraped through his soul, leaving a trail of something cold and slick-black behind. 

“I...need to know,” Eric choked out. 

“Know what, sweetcheeks?” 

“What it’s like,” he whispered, afraid somehow his father would hear him beyond the grave, that Grim would hear him back at home, that the other merpeople in the city would know how deeply he craved to walk in the sun—to _walk_. Run. Dance. 

Her tentacle tapped his cheek. “I thought so.”

He didn’t plan on handing over his heirloom gold and coral bracelet as payment. He didn’t plan on being coerced into adding his _voice_ into the deal. 

“It’s not much of a deal if it isn’t important, now, is it?” Ursula looked like she might devour him. “Now, open wide.” 

Blue and white and green and purple light swirled around Eric in a haze of magic and bubbles. Some force took hold of him, lifted him, held him. Ursula cackled, his chest felt hollowed out, his throat suddenly parched. His fins burned, his nerve-endings crackled and pain roared through his— _his legs._

And then, all at once, he couldn’t breathe. 

When Eric reached the surface, gasping for air because human lungs were so very different from mermaid lungs, he collapsed in the sand clutching his bag, with the little box. 

He laid on the shore for a while, simply getting his bearings and learning to breathe. He rolled onto his back to watch the stars, but this time, _this time_ , he watched them as a human, on surface, on land. Eric’s face split into a grin and he let out a whoop—forgetting already that Ursula had taken his voice. Only a faint whisper of breath escaped his mouth instead. 

The loss barely penetrated the overwhelming joy and excitement building in his veins. 

He didn’t _plan_ any of this, but he couldn’t help thinking it already was worth it. He was going to dance.


End file.
